Progeny
by Accalia
Summary: What if the ending... changed?
1. Default Chapter

Petals.  
  
Red petals fell from the crowd to drift on the wind, bringing them to rest on the sand of the arena. Petals the color of blood. They scattered, floating gently to settle on the ground around the two combatants: the General and the Emperor.  
  
The first blow was dealt, metal grating harshly against metal and sparks flying as Commodus brought his sword up against Maximus'. From there on, the battle seemed evenly matched. The crowd was on its feet, roaring in approval at every near miss. Lucilla, sitting in the Caesar's usual seat, looked stricken with grief, eyes on the fighting pair as Lucius watched beside her.  
  
No one seemed to know of the general's wound, even as the trickle of blood made itself apparent down the outside of his leg, staining his tunica and seeping into his boot.  
  
// We mortals are but shadows and dust. //  
  
It should have been over when Maximus had thrown the young Emperor to the ground and swung his sword in a downward sweep, ready to take off Commodus' head.  
  
He didn't.  
  
The white-clad man parried the blow just in time, rolling to his side and jumping back to his feet. The battle went on. When Commodus lost his sword, it was a tangible thought: The fight would end soon.  
  
The Emperor's dagger was drawn. He swung it with brutal force at Maximus, again and again, each time just missing the contact that would have gutted the wounded gladiator. And wounded as he was, unarmed, it didn't seem as much of a surprise to anyone when the tables turned and he landed his fist in Commodus' face several times in quick succession. His furious roar roar as his punch sent Commodus reeling seemed to echo in the arena. Commodus recovered, failed in slitting Maximus' throat, finally caught his own neck on the dagger bent back, clutched in his own hand. He sank to the ground, slipping off the knife's point. Silence reigned.  
  
It was all Maximus could do not to crumple to the ground next to Commodus right there and then. The dagger fell from his grasp, and he stumbled to the center of the ring.  
  
// You will see them again. //  
  
The door was unlocked. He pushed it open - and Quintus called him back.  
  
"Maximus."  
  
He was swaying on his feet, as his vision cleared and he blinked at his former second-in-command. "Quintus." A pause. He took a deep breath. "Free my men. Senator Gracchus is to be reinstated. There was a dream that was Rome. It shall be realized. These are the wishes of Marcus Aurelius."   
  
Through a hazy cloud, he heard Quintus bark orders at two of the Praetorians to free the prisoners. He fell heavily to the flower-littered sand. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he saw Lucilla's face. "Lucius is safe," was all he managed to say. He could feel the long grasses of Hispania brushing his fingertips...  
  
"Go to them." Lucilla's voice broke as she watched the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes, before his head sank to the ground. She reached out a hand to close his half-open eyes.  
  
// What we do in life echoes in eternity. //  
  
And for Maximus Decimus Meridius, the triumphs and falls of life had all of eternity to echo in forever.  
  
Lucilla stood to look out at the freed gladiators, but before she could say anything, a groan from the side broke into her thoughts. For a fleeting moment, hope washed over her that the groan may have been Maximus', but it was not.  
  
Commodus lurched to his feet, his neck still dripping scarlet - and it was quite obvious that he was still alive.   
  
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	2. Part II

The wind in the arena lifted a few rose petals and brought them up to swirl around Commodus' legs, drifting to land at his feet. Droplets of blood rolled down his neck, the front of his armor, sliding off to drip next to the flowers, matching in color.  
  
The mob was silent.  
  
Lucilla saw her brother's hand lift, touch his neck, bring it away sticky with crimson blood as his dark gaze dropped to his fingers. When he lifted his eyes, they locked with hers, and she shivered at the unmasked turmoil and - what was it, madness? rage? confusion? - that blazed in his stare. She tore her eyes away, instinctively reaching back to keep Lucius from coming forward.  
  
// Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back. //  
  
He smiled.  
  
After a moment of just the strange smile, he reached both hands up to rub tiredly at his face, looking for all the world like a weary child. But when his hands went back to lie limply at his sides, a streak of red blood smeared its way brazenly across his face, stretching from temple to chin. Lucilla gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and then behind her to keep Lucius back. Gracchus, to his credit, made no move or noise of revulsion, but the horror that every had to have been feeling at that instant reflected clearly in his face.  
  
"Brother, you need to wash your face," Lucilla spoke first, as one would speak to an upset child: very gently, softly, soothingly. She stepped forward, one hand lifted in hopes of appeasing Commodus.  
  
Commodus stared at her hand for a moment, expressionless. His gaze lifted to meet Lucilla's again, holding it there for a long moment, but this time, it was he who broke away. He turned, face now hard and cold, looking where Maximus' body lay.   
  
// Am I not merciful? //  
  
He heard a questioning murmur rise from the crowd; it went ignored, as his eyes fixed on the man who had plagued him so - the man who was finally dead. "Without you, they will love me," he whispered, voice a bare hiss directed to the unmoving body that had once been a general, a slave, a gladiator. "This is the story's ending. And it was a famous death, wasn't it? Striking story, indeed."  
  
Lucilla, Gracchus, and the others watched as silently as the mob, each looking disturbed to see the Emperor talk to a corpse. And still he rambled on, attention focused solely on Maximus, as if by taunting him even in death he could somehow torture the former general. The drops of blood ran ominously down the armor, falling to land next to Maximus, fading into the surrounding sand. "You failed even to avenge your family," Commodus sneered, heedless of the sanguine droplets. Again, he whispered the same as he had told Maximus in the arena before. "Your son, squealing like a girl as he was nailed to the cross... And your wife, moaning like a whore, as they ravaged her... again, and again, and again." The cruelty of the words seemed to fuel him on. "I wonder... How shall your death be recorded with theirs?" The sneer twisted malevolently, distorting the streak of blood on his face to a maliciously frightening sight.  
  
With that, he spat in derisive contempt at Maximus' body, missing in his vindictive spite and not realizing it before turning and stalking past the Praetorians, past the freed slaves, past his sister, and out of the arena.  
  
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	3. Part III

Lucilla was left standing alone in the Colosseum.  
  
The former gladiators and Gracchus had left long ago with Lucius tagging along behind them; Maximus was borne out of the arena on the procession's shoulders. She had left arrangements to Gracchus of when and where Maximus was to be interred, but in the meantime, she had to make sure that Commodus would not take the throne once again.  
  
// Your brother will need you now, more than ever. //  
  
'I'm tired of being strong.' She had said the words only a day ago to Maximus. And now, she would have to continue to be strong- for Lucius, for the people, for herself and her memories of Maximus. She had to see to it that Commodus didn't step back into his position as Emperor and ruin Rome even more than he already had.  
  
But the image of her brother's bloodied face was branded in her mind. Seeing the scarlet smear from his hand and nose across his face and his troubled, dark eyes again in memory only served to increase her reluctance to see him by tenfold. Not to mention the fact that Commodus thought he was still the Emperor; after all, he had won the fight.  
  
She would have to become the Protector of Rome, as her father had designated Maximus to be originally. Maximus was dead, and there was no one to pass the job onto except for herself.  
  
// What a Caesar you would have made. //  
  
With a muted sigh of resignation, she turned toward the still-open doors and walked out, rose petals fluttering in her wake.  
  
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Commodus was pacing in his room, his steps treading softly across the hard floor, when Lucilla made her way in.  
  
"Commodus?"  
  
He looked up at her, and for the second time in several hours, she gasped, hands flying to her mouth again.  
  
It was obvious that although the bleeding from his neck had stopped, the man hadn't taken her advice to wash up. His face still had the wide streak of red, now turned a rich burdundy as it dried. The wound on his neck was still a vivid crimson, and the armored breastplate was stained with rivulets of rust-colored dried blood. The sneer from the arena had been replaced by a grimace; his eyes, no longer troubled, had a frenzied look that alarmed her.  
  
"You should wash your face, brother. Come." She took a chance in hoping that he would obey, but he did, following her silently to the baths to rinse the blood off his face and neck, exchanging the armor for his typical finery before they set off to go find the surgeon. His verdict: Commodus had a badly broken nose, and the bruises on his face would remain for a long time to come. The cut on his arm was shallow, but it could leave a scar. The wound on his neck was simply a puncture wound; the shock and pain had made the Emperor black out for a few moments earlier in the arena. Inwardly, Lucilla took great satisfaction in that knowing Maximus had marred Commodus' good looks, at least temporarily. She nodded, sent a servant to find out what Commodus' needs would be, and strode off with her brother in tow, feigning blitheness.  
  
// You're lying... I never had to acquire your comfort with it. //  
  
His sullen silence was beginning to worry her, when he finally spoke. His voice was bitter, hurt, angry, dangerously soft, and Lucilla lost what little facade of near-happiness that she had. She paled at his words.  
  
"You lied to me." 


	4. Part IV

Lucilla stumbled back several paces as Commodus bore down on her, her steps faltering on the polished floor as she strove to stay out of reach of the mad monster that her brother had become.  
  
In the moments that had passed since he had spoken, his expression had run through a series of incredible transformations; wrenching pain, twisting to a look of black rage. Hatred. Fear slipped in as only the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, like that of a lost child, with frustration etched around all else; the sanded abrasions on his face were beading with blood again, distorting the image to near-hideous proportions. But underlying all that, there was always a strained mask of juvenile anguish. His strides lengthened and he advanced on his sister, his eyes fixed on hers.  
  
"Commodus, please. Stop."  
  
"You lied to me," he repeated, unheeding of her pleas. "You told me you loved me, but you never did. You just loved Maximus!" His face darkened in rage again as he drew nearer to Lucilla. "Maximus the merciful. Maximus the slave." His voice broke to a hoarse whisper and he finally stopped, though Lucilla retreated a few more steps, pressing against the wall before pausing in her backstepping, as well.  
  
// The savior of Rome. And who said that? //  
  
Commodus straightened, his face blank once more. "I warned you once already." He took one more step forward, and she, left with nowhere to go, simply stared at him. "Lucius will have to d--"  
  
He was cut off as the topic of his words walked solemnly into the corridor, closely followed by Quintus. The Praetorian's dispassionate gaze fell to Commodus, before dropping down to Lucius and up again to Lucilla. "My lady, Lucius has been looking for you and his uncle..."  
  
Lucius stepped forward to his mother's side, looking speculatively up at Commodus before noting matter-of-factly, "Uncle, your face is still bleeding. Maybe you should go see the surgeon." When no one responded to his suggestion, he spoke up again. "Is there something wrong, uncle?" A slight frown crossed his face, and still, Commodus failed to answer.  
  
Lucilla struggled to put on a brave face for her son. She knelt, hugging him tightly before placing one hand on his shoulder and halfway turning back the way he'd come from. "Lucius, your uncle is very tired from the fight. Why don't you go ask one of the servants to bring up a few dogs? If you find one that you like, I'll let you keep him as a pet," she urged him to leave.  
  
// You love your son. You are strong for him. //  
  
"Yes, Mother." Lucius turned and left, still trailed by Quintus. As soon as they were out of sight, Commodus turned to Lucilla, gaze burning darkly, and stormed off down the corridor in the opposite direction that Lucius had went in.  
  
She slowly went to her own room, sinking into the scant comfort her luxurious bed provided and wept, soft silks and pillows muffling and drying her tears.  
  
And she slept, dreams shattered by visions of Lucius dying at his uncle's hands.  
  
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	5. Part V

Lucilla woke to a sensation not unlike that of someone wiping her face off with a warm washcloth.  
  
She blinked. In return, she nearly recieved an eyeful of the "washcloth."   
  
A puppy was standing next to her head, enthusiastically licking her face. At that precise moment, Lucius's voice rang softly from the corridor. "Amatricis?"  
  
"If your Amatricis happens to look like a puppy, I believe she's here," she called back, lifting the canine off the bed and fetching a soft cloth from the side of the bed to wipe off her face. Lucius came trotting in, coming up to the bed to pick up the puppy.  
  
"I think she ought to look like a puppy," the boy noted speculatively, his expression mirroring that of the canine's: pleased, subtly gleeful. "She is one. You promised I could keep one if I found one I liked, Mother..."  
  
"I wasn't planning on breaking the promise." Lucilla set the cloth aside to smile at her son and his pet. "You've named her Amatricis?" Lucius nodded solemnly. "It suits her." Indeed, the puppy looked as sweet as her name deigned -- the ample off-white fur, dark brown eyes, huge paws and ears, the short legs and overall round appearance. Endearing.  
  
"Mother. I saw another dog that I liked." Lucilla looked thoughtfully at him, nodding for him to continue. "Could I have... two pets?" A smile stole onto his face. "I even have a name picked out."  
  
"And what would that name be?"  
  
"I want to name him Felix!" he declared, looking up at her expectantly, the smile still present.  
  
Lucilla's heart nearly seized up at the proposed name. Felix. Lucky. The name of Maximus' former legions. In the following moments of silence that passed, Lucius waited, beginning to look a bit apprehensive. "Mother? Is Felix a bad name, then?" Amatricis wriggled and sniffed in his arms, oblivious to Lucilla's frozen expression.  
  
"It's a fine name," she managed after the inner turmoil of setting her battered heart back to rights, at least externally. "But let's see how you are with Amatricis, and then we'll decide."  
  
// Or do you think me heartless? //  
  
Lucius nodded and left, puppy still grasped in his arms.  
  
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Commodus was pacing his room. Not angrily, not sadly. Just... pacing. His shoes brushed lightly over the floor, which he stared hard at, hands linked behind his back under his white cape.  
  
He was dressed in full battle glory again, though it had all been clean and what could not have been washed out of blood had been replaced hastily. The white Lorica segmentata creaked softly as he turned at the end of the room and walked the oth er way again; the cape floated out a few inches behind him.   
  
A deep, thoughtful frown creased his face, though it disappeared with a wince of pain as the expression pulled the skin tight over his injured nose, though it was not that that was bothering him.  
  
Rumors had erupted in the servants. Something about his nephew and a canine he wanted to name Felix.  
  
His blood boiled. How could his dear Lucius betray his uncle like that? Wanting to name a dog Felix. It saddened him deeply. And Lucilla... Lucilla had lied to him. To be merciful, he would spare her life, and Lucius'. But only for a little longer, if they didn't please him. They had hurt him so much... Surely they must know that without their love, his life would be worthless.  
  
// A frightful dream... Life is. //  
  
As he thought, paced, he felt more at peace. After only a few moments more of striding back and forth, he slumped into the nearest chair -- overstuffed, new, huge -- and closed his eyes.  
  
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The days passed. Lucilla grew hesitantly more at ease in life once more; she had not had any more angry encounters with her brother. Indeed, he had seemed unusually subdued, sympathetic. Both she and Commodus had grown fond of Amatricis, and the puppy could often be found slipping and sliding across the polished floors with Lucius running along behind her. Perhaps the gods had decided to give her true life back, be benevolent. She prayed to them for her son's safety.  
  
// I remember you in my prayers... //  
  
Nearly two weeks after Lucius' decision to keep Amatricis, any measure of peace she had disappeared.  
  
Lucius came to her before dinner, troubled and worried. "Mother, I can't find Amatricis anywhere... I've looked all over, and I've even had the servants help."  
  
"Perhaps she went and hid in a corner somewhere. It wouldn't be too hard for her to do that," she comforted him. "I will help you look for her." He accepted that, and their meal went as planned, except for the fact that Commodus failed to attend.   
  
When she returned to her room afterward, all of her life-learned control went into keeping herself from either retching in horror or screaming in the same.  
  
Lying at the foot of her bed was a cream-colored puppy, limp and lifeless, head and chest lying in a pool of blood on the stone floor. Lying next to Amatricis' body was a red satin cushion, casually propping up a dagger.  
  
On closer inspection, the dagger's hilt bore her brother's trademark insignia of inlaid gold, and she knew: this was Commodus' tacit reminder of his power, over her life, and her son's.  
  
// Or I shall strike down those closest to you... //  
  
The servants were hard at work that night, removing all traces of blood from the tiled floor.  
  
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	6. Part VI

The tension between Lucilla and Commodus thickened considerably in the next few weeks, though mostly on Lucilla's part. She knew that her brother was responsible for Lucius' pet's untimely demise, and he knew of her awareness.  
  
She had managed to convince Lucius that Amatricis had run away, somehow. He had believed her, had seemed troubled for a few days, but recovered from his brief mourning with remarkable speed -- as children had a tendency to do -- with the added incentive of a new pet, named Caeco instead of the original Felix. As his name suggested, the dog was dark; black fur, soulful brown eyes, with a personality that matched the late Amatricis' in adoration to Lucius, tempered by the refinement of adulthood. To her relief, the dog was a great deal larger than Lucius' last pet, standing as tall as her son's waist, thick of bone and well-muscled.  
  
She had managed to keep her strong front on in public and in front of her son, but it slipped away at night now. Her slumber was fitful, riddled with nightmares of Lucius' death, memories of Maximus and his fall in the Colosseum. Rumors around Rome held it that one senator had been executed recently under charge of treason. Lucilla didn't doubt the whispers about Gracchus' death that circulated through the kitchens and other rooms of the palace -- more often than not the slave's secret was truer than the merchant's boast.  
  
Through the city, it was as she had predicted before. Maximus was a legend, true, but his was a legend fast learned and fast forgotten, fading into past news as the days passed -- after all, he was great, but he had been beaten by their Emperor. Even Lucius seemed to have forgotten about his famed Spaniard. The gladiator's burial had been short, since Gracchus' death had interrupted the flow of events, requiring little more than an unprecendented trip consisting of Lucilla and several well-paid guards back to Maximus' native Spain. He rested now in the slowly-regrowing fields of his home beneath the scorched poplar.   
  
// My wife and my son... are already waiting for me... //  
  
He rested with them, in the peace and bliss that only Elysium could bring. The kind of peace that Maximus might have brought.  
  
Rome had fallen back into its routine, watching the games while the economy died and disease sprang up in more and more regions due to Commodus' lack of expertise in deal with problems in any other way than he pleased. The dissolution of the Senate had been announced. And still, the people did not see, blinded by their visions of grandeur and glory in the bloodied sand of the arena.  
  
// This is a pleasant fiction, isn't it? //  
  
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Nearly a month later, Roman life had drifted back to normalcy. The 150th day of the games was drawing near; more people than ever crowded to the arena to watch the final games, their adoration now turned solely on Commodus. And he, Caesar, was now resting at leisure in his expansive room alone, one hand draped over the hilt of the sword he had taken to twirling, the tip of its blade spinning on the floor. His free hand was contemplatively running over the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the only lasting reminder of his former rival Maximus. Gazing up at a bust of the late Marcus Aurelius, he began talking, though whether to the marble figurehead or anything else was questionable; the fact that he was mad evidently was not.  
  
"Ambition drove me this far. You never dared to please your people like this, Father."  
  
// The four chief virtues... //  
  
"Your virtues... they left you empty."  
  
The statue's stone eyes stared back at Commodus as he continued.  
  
"Empty. You wanted to pass the throne on to Maximus... To keep the same empty traditions. The people cannot rule themselves. They beg for a ruler, for a father. Like the father you never were to me. They beg for the love you never showed. I will give that to them, and they love me already. I am resourceful. The way you never were. I am courageous; I defeated your Maximus. And my devotion to Rome will make Her mine, the way she never really was yours."  
  
His hollow laughter rang through the room as he prepared to leave to oversee a new day of games.  
  



End file.
